


Five times Aziraphale declined Crowley’s invitation to stay over and one time he didn’t

by Val_Writes_Stuff



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Fluff, Gabriel is an asshole, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other, Tagged as other because they are nb, This is Bell's fault, the angels and the demons show up/are mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-05-28 04:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/Val_Writes_Stuff
Summary: These are five times the demon Crowley invited the angel Aziraphale to stay over at his attic and the celestial being refused. This also contains the first time he agreed to go. This happened on many occasions, but this story only contains the five more intersesting times it happened in the XX and XXI centuries. There are also stories worth telling in other centuries, not in vain they’ve been roaming this earth for about 6000 years.But no. Even though it would be most remarkable to tell what happened in a lousy inn in the XIV century, that’s way too far ago. For this story, we are going to focus on the XX and XXI centuries for it has been the era they’ve spent more time together.





	1. 1921

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I'm soft for this kind of fanfics, I also like angst, you'll notice. By the way, English is by no means my first languaje, so if there is a typo tell me politely. Thanks.

These are five times the demon Crowley invited the angel Aziraphale to stay over at his attic and the celestial being refused. This also contains the first time he agreed to go. This happened on many occasions, but this story only contains the five more intersesting times it happened in the XX and XXI centuries. There are also stories worth telling in other centuries, not in vain they’ve been roaming this earth for about 6000 years.

But no. Even though it would be most remarkable to tell what happened in a lousy inn in the XIV century, that’s way too far ago. For this story, we are going to focus on the XX and XXI centuries for it has been the era they’ve spent more time together.

-1921-

Crowley took another swing at his half-empty whiskey and swallowed, letting the alcohol burn through his body. The feeling, that any human would certainly dislike, was rather pleasant for the demon. Maybe it was his nature. Or maybe it was the empty bottle besides the glass, that had already numbed him. 

It didn’t matter how plastered he was, Aziraphale was way worse. One should not take rum lightly. Rum is a bitch that tastes sweet, but that’s the catch. It’s so sweet that you just want more and more. And when you realize, you’re so drunk you can’t walk. Personally, Crowley preferred drinks that adverted the drinker just how strong they were, that’s why he didn’t drink rum. 

Nevertheless, he though rum suited Aziraphale almost too well. Both were sweet and you could swear nothing was going to happen to you for getting more of them. But they got under your skin, they made you feel like your legs were made of jelly and they made you want more and more of them.

Yes, it was probably a bad time to realize what he felt. Or maybe he had known for a long time but refused to admit it. Aziraphale was an angel, for Satan’s sake. He was kind, and nice, and oh, so good. He was so good he sometimes made Crowley forget that he was a demon, he felt embraced by that goodness. The same benevolent creature that plagued his mind was now laughing on the ground, empty bottle of rum by his side.

“You know?” Said Aziraphale grinning, trying his best to look at his best friend slash sworn enemy. “Do you know what’s going on in the States now?”

The demon nodded, lowering a bit his sunglasses to pierce a look through the blond sprawled on the floor. “Of course, I do, everybody talks about it.”

He giggled. He straight up giggled at that. Like a small child about to tell a joke he knew he shouldn’t. “It was Gabriel’s idea.” And he started laughing manically, rolling on the ground. The rum had done its deed. “He thought, pffff… Sorry, he thought that, heh… That sober people wouldn’t get into trouble!”

A sigh escaped Crowley’s lips. That was as stupid as anything that someone who spent zero time on Earth could say. See, that was the problem with angels. They barely even looked down at the Earth. So proud of the creation of their boss and yet they couldn’t care less. Gabriel was a bloody moron for thinking that alcohol was the problem. But such train of thought was expected from someone who didn’t even know what a piña colada was.

“Well, he got the opposite. Humans are opening illegal taverns and smuggling alcohol.” He pointed out, although Aziraphale’s tone already suggested that he knew it.

“I know, and I don’t condone it. But I have to recognize that I’m rather impressed with human’s tenacity. They sure like their free will.” He was still on the ground, smiling and content, the carpet of the bookstore was very soft.

“More likely they like their alcohol, but I see your point, angel.” Crowley looked at the clock, it was well past three in the morning. They should head home. “It’s awfully late and you should rest.” He was also drunk, but not as much as the angel, he had learned to hold his alcohol.

“But I lost they keys to my apartment, again…” Aziraphale pouted, he actually pouted. Crowley was starting to think that he was dealing with a child instead of an almost 6000 years old immortal being. He sighed, trying to silence the small voice in his head saying something about feelings and fondness. Those feeling weren’t made for him, he was a creature of darkness, a creature of destruction and chaos.

“You could miracle them, or miracle yourself inside the apartment.” He suggested.

His pout only deepened. “I’ve already used too many frivolous miracles this month. Uriel reprimanded me…”

Sighing, Crowley weighed his possibilities. He could make his friend appear inside the apartment, or make the door open… or maybe… “Do you wanna come over? To my place I mean. You obviously need to rest.”

He said it before he could stop himself, and now he regretted it. Not only was he battling against his own realization, his feelings… Aziraphale was so drunk he couldn’t even walk. It wasn’t a good idea. And if he knew it was such a bad idea, why did he feel sadness when the angel refused?

“You know I can’t.” He said, his head a bit clearer now, and if Crowley concentrated, he could see a bit of the rum back inside the bottle. “What if Head Office finds out?”

Crowley would like to think that he played it cool, he smirked and said “No problem angel, I can just-“ and he didn’t finish his phrase. Of more likely Aziraphale didn’t hear the end of it. He found himself in his own bed, Crowley must have teleported him there. He smiled content, the rum still very present on his blood, turned around and fell asleep hugging the pillow and thinking it was Crowley.


	2. 1941

-1941-

The Bentley was running through the streets of London, its two occupants sharing a comfortable silence. Aziraphale was still hugging his books, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He had thought he was working for the MI6, turns out he was helping the bad guys. Besides from the flurry of questions that made him consider about himself, that had turned out quite… well, not good.

Crowley, the very demon he was supposed to be the archnemesis of, had not only saved him from an impromptu discorporation, but also saved his books. Now, it’s not like they were enemies, Aziraphale liked to consider the demon a friend. But the nature of their relationship was now changing, at least on Aziraphale’s part. 

He closed his eyes and remembered how the redhead had appeared like a, very inaccurately described, guardian angel. Tiptoeing and walking comically to avoid touching sacred ground for long. Aziraphale didn’t know for sure if it was the first time he did that. Did he know that it wasn’t going to kill him? Or had he risked everything, a possible discorporation, even a possible death if one were to believe some myths… all to save him?

He opened his eyes again, feeling a bit hot in the face and bothered. He caressed one of the book’s spine. He couldn’t articulate in words how much it meant to him when an apparently no longer affected by the sacred ground Crowley had casually pulled out the books. He looked at his demonic friend.

He was driving, concentrated on the roads, which were pretty dangerous lately. Apparently he sensed his gaze, because he looked back for an instant, but it was enough to make Aziraphale’s cheeks burn and his head snap away, turning towards the window. Hold on, he didn’t know that road.

“Wait, where are we going?” He asked.

“My place.” Crowley spit back while turning a corner. “You almost got discorporated, you are spending the night at my attic. Don’t worry, you’re gonna love the plants.”

Aziraphale felt lots of things. He felt anger; how dare he made that decision for him? He also felt a tiny bit of curiosity, he had never been to his place. But mostly, he felt embarrassment. He had just started to figure something out. Something that scared and excited him at the same time. He was most definitely not spending the night at Crowley’s home.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself!” he protested, but it sounded more like a whine. “I want to sleep at my apartment. Besides, imagine what Head Office would do if they found out!”

Crowley stopped the car completely, in the middle of the road, not like there was someone else driving that late. He looked at his companion, who looked back. It was a silent conversation the one they were having, only with their gazes. The demon tested the angel, fixing him with his best intimidating glare. Aziraphale held it, trying to look as dignified as possible, and trying to maintain any thoughts about Crowley’s eyes at bay.

Eventually, the redhead sighed and turned on the engine again. “Fine, I’ll drive you to your library, but stop messing with nazis!” He wasn’t happy letting him go like this, but as much as he was a demon, he wasn’t a fan of making people do things they didn’t want to. He was more inclined to just tempt them to do things they already wanted to do but didn’t dare.

And oh boy, had he knew how tempted Aziraphale had felt to say agree to go to his place…


	3. 1967

-1967-

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.” 

That was Aiziraphale’s answer. The demon stared for a moment as the angel exited the car and mingled between other pedestrians on the street. Damn it. Fuck. He had messed up so bad. He didn’t exactly know why, but he knew that he had royally fucked up.

 _You go too fast for me, Crowley_

The words echoed through his head as he slammed the steering wheel of the Bentley. Seven words, like the seven deadly sins, like the seven satanic tenets. Seven words that had more meaning that everything humans could write, that held so much meaning. Because he knew damn well that Aziraphale wasn’t talking about the speed.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

He had said it with hesitation, maybe with regret, but Crowley didn’t dare to hope. He was in a dire situation. If hell knew what he was actually doing on Earth, that he had the Agreement… They would come for him, and they wouldn’t just be rude. He needed that holy water; he couldn’t trust anyone. Anyone except Aziraphale. 

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

The words were burned, scorched in his mind. And they were painful. Not only because the ache on his chest, what did that mean regarding their relationship? Would Aziraphale want to end their Agreement, their… friendship? Crowley took a deep breath, not because he actually needed to, but to ground himself. No, he didn’t want to think about that. Not now. He had to put the holy water someplace safe. Like his apartment, where he planned to take Aziraphale. Fuck.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

He needed to drown those thoughts, the pain in his chest getting unbearable the more he thought about that damned sentence. Turning on the engine he commanded the radio to play something. “All you need is love” started playing and he intimidated his Bentley so much with nothing but a stare that the dial on the radio changed and now “Funky Broadway” could be heard trough the speakers. Yeah, he had to think about the present.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

But again, it was those seven words. They were twenty-five fatidic letters spoken with a slightly southern accent. And just one meaning, one that he couldn’t forget.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

Yeah, he wasn’t talking about the car at all. But damn it, weren’t like 6000 years not enough? Would he have to wait till the end of the world? He was burning with so many emotions he had to step out of the car and shout, scaring a few passersby. Well, fuck everything, that counted as demonic activity for all it mattered. He grumbled and hopped onto the car again, determined to drink extraordinary quantities of alcohol after putting the holy water in a safe.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

The fatidic phrase played on his mind one more time when he stared at the thermos. It radiated pure Aziraphale energy: creamy-coloured, full of warm colours, rounded at the edges, holy… Crowley sighed and closed the safe, looking at the sketch Leonardo DaVinci had made expressly for him. He thought that Leonardo would have probably liked Aziraphale, had they met. Everybody liked Aziraphale. God, even he was in lo- he liked him…

_You go too fast for me, Crowley_

Yes. Definitely. He needed alcohol right now.


End file.
